


Before it's Too Late

by Tiger_Lilly13



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Comfort Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9805472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiger_Lilly13/pseuds/Tiger_Lilly13
Summary: Trying to piece together his past, Fenris almost loses his future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! Here is another Fenris story because that elf just won't leave me alone. Please enjoy!

The air of the usual jovial and rambunctious tavern was now thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp acrid of magic. The patrons are cowering under tables not yet split in half or jumping out of open windows to escape from the skeletons and shades that are continuously spawning up from the wooden floorboards. Chairs have been thrown about and glass litters the floor not covered with crimson and ale.

Varania is cowering in a corner, as she should be. All he wanted was to recover a piece of his past to start putting a life together and instead he was unwillingly lead to his ultimate demise. He should not be all that surprised. He had known for years that his sister was a servant and that the magisters treated her with fairness, which should have been his first warning. He was too consumed with needing to at least find something, someone from his life before the markings that he disregarded the possibility of betrayal the minute he walked into the tavern and saw her.

Fenris and Hawke are the only ones still standing, but just barely. Varric has been knocked out and Sebastian has run out of arrows, currently fighting desperately against a shade with a dagger he keeps attached to his belt for emergencies. Anders is struggling keeping his mana reserves from completely depleting, only casting protective spells over Fenris and Hawke when he can, but he soon succumbs to exhaustion, losing consciousness and falling to the floor.

He knew, when he saw his former master descend the stairs that this would end in a blood bath. There was no way that this fight would be easy. An esteemed magister of the Tevinter Imperium was a dangerous enemy, and not even Hawke could match his power.

Hawke had a way out. Danarius offered her a peaceful solution: to take Fenris back to Minrathous and leave without incident. She had refused, but not before his former master was able to let loose information he would have rather kept hidden from her until his death. The shame and embarrassment of her knowing what his master had done to him only fueled the resentment and hatred he harbored for the magister.

Anger and desperation was a deadly combination and Fenris is using that mixture as a focus point, using the blend to channel his lyrium markings in a deadly flurry of rage. He flares brighter, moves faster, cuts deeper, and every swipe of his blade hits home on each enemy, slicing through them with lethal precision.

Hawke is casting at a speed he has never seen, the ice flying from her finger tips in sharp, serrated points and the fire billowing out of her hands in a cloud of smoke and ash.

They just will not stop, an endless wave of shades, slavers and undead, all at the magisters bidding. They are both exhausted, but they are not giving up. With Anders down, Hawke is protecting him when she can, throwing a fireball at a shade that creeps up behind him, sending the creature into a panic and melting into the floor.

At last, Danarius drops his shield and joins in the fight, a perfect opportunity for Fenris to finally strike the killing blow. He is about ready to charge at his former master, but Danarius sends him hurtling backwards and he slams against the wall with a loud and painful crash. He is momentarily disoriented, but quickly shakes out of his haze and grabs his sword from the ground in front of him. He stands, searching around frantically for him, and then he hears it. The shrill scream that stops his heart as if he has reached in his own chest and squeezed it himself.

“Enough!”

All movement stops, the air itself seeming to freeze in its place and becoming deadly quiet and still. The only sounds he can hear are his panting breaths and the rapid beat of his own heart. The last two slavers have stopped in their advance and the shades and undead sink down into nothing. Fenris slowly turns his head to the sound of the booming voice at the top of the stairs leading to the vacant rooms, and what he sees takes all the breath from his lungs as if he is drowning. Eyes wide, mouth agape in shock and a look of total hopelessness on his features.

“No…” he breathes, lowering his sword with terror filled eyes at the scene in front of him.

Hawke, his Hawke, is in the clutches of his former master, a dagger to her throat and bindings on her wrists. Her forearms have been cut, and blood is whirling around her in graceful swirls, the red liquid flowing down her arms and he knows instantly it is blood magic that keeps her in place.

Danarius has her in his hold, her face contorted in fury trying to wriggle away from him but he only holds her tighter, having the extra strength due to the powerful binding spell.

“Let. Her. Go.” Fenris snarls, saying the words menacingly, raising his sword again and moving forward towards the stairs.

“Ah ah, little Fenris.” He snips, pressing the blade further into Hawke’s neck and she gasps. Fenris stops when he sees the nick on her throat start to leak blood. “Drop it.”

Fenris growls in frustration and relinquishes his sword with a loud clatter, but it lands within his reach. His markings are still flaring, but they have dimmed to a soft glow.

“Now,” Danarius huffs, his tone condescending, “We, are going to all settle down and work through this as rational and reasonable people.” He is speaking to him like a disobedient child, as if Fenris is not trying to rip his heart out and is only just an unruly juvenile. “You have grown up much, little wolf. Time away from me has made you stronger, so perhaps it was not a total waste. But you have become too defiant and will give me more trouble than you are worth.” Fenris scoffs. He has a hard time believing that. The only reason he is even bargaining is because he knows that is his only chance of getting out of this alive, which he won’t be.

“I will make a deal with you, my boy, one that I know you could not refuse. You wish to be free, yes? A noble ideal, for certain.”

Fenris is barely listening to his monologue, his eyes fixed on the woman now in the grip of the man that has haunted his steps for his entire existence. The woman who has given him a life and has protected him and supported him for the past six years. The woman who refused to give him up even though that would have saved her all this pain. She did it for him, an ungrateful ex slave that broke her heart because he was too cowardly to tell her how he felt, and now all he wants to do is hold her in his arms and confess all the things he wishes he would have on that passionate night that they spent together three years ago.

“My proposal is this.” Danarius pauses, probably for added effect because he so loves his drama, “Your freedom…for her life.”

That gets his attention and his eyes snap to the magister, a look of confusion on his features. “That’s right, Fenris. I will let you go, and never pursue you again. All I ask in return is your mistress to replace you. Simple as that. Now that doesn’t seem too hard, does it?”

Fenris contemplates the choice for mere seconds, already knowing his answer, not even considering the alternative. There is no way he would let Hawke be detained and made a slave under Danarius, not that he even believes that the mage would give up his vendetta to capture him in the end, but the magister takes the silent pause as his acceptance, “Looks like I have myself a new pet to-“

Fenris yells, “No…no.” He takes a breath, exhales harshly and murmurs, “I will…go with you.”

Hawke begins to struggle with vigor, “No, Fenris! Don’t-ahhh!”

Danarius yanks her head back by her hair violently so that her neck strains, “Be silent.” His attention turns back to the elf, “You will return with me? No defiance?”

Fenris lowers his head and slumps his shoulders, nodding defeatingly as Hawke continues to fight and voice her protests. Danarius motions for the other two slavers in the room to move towards him.

The two remaining guards walk cautiously up to Fenris and he growls at them, the one on the left having the braces out that will stop him from being able to activate his markings. He holds out his wrists obediently when he gets close enough and lets the nervous guard secure them in place. He can feel the magic working against him and he tests out the bindings, sensing the magic suppress his abilities.

The two guards, now feeling deceptively safer, take a hold of his biceps on each arm. Fenris looks up to his former master still holding on to Hawke. Danarius smiles and although he whispers into Hawke’s ear, which makes her squirm away in disgust, he knows the words are for him, “Good boy.”

Fenris ignores that humiliating remark, “Now let her go.” He demands anxiously.

Danarius’s face lights up in mock surprise, “Ah yes, I knew I was forgetting something.”

It all happened in slow motion. Danarius takes his blade away from Hawke’s neck, raises it behind him, and embeds the dagger right into her back. She tries to scream, but her breath has been sucked out of her, and her mouth is open in a silent cry, her eyes wide and terrified. Fenris hears someone scream ferociously, “No!”, until he realizes that it is him roaring out his shock. Danarius smiles sadistically, and pushes her away from him to tumble down the stairs in a sickening tangle of limbs until her limp form crumples to the floor in front of him.

Fenris stares down at her motionless body as she in turn, stares at him with lifeless eyes and struggling to breathe.

Fenris goes numb, deaf. He doesn’t feel, he doesn’t hear, he doesn’t see. Vaguely, he is aware that his former master is walking down the stairs triumphantly.

“We can’t have another mistress who holds your loyalty Fenris. You should know better.” He smiles at him, laughing arrogantly, and motions for the guards with a flick of his wrist to haul him away. Fenris lifts his eyes from Hawke as if they are weights inside his skull until they lock onto the man who has taken everything from him, and has now taken his Hawke from him. He begins to vibrate, the blood flowing in his ears a loud, raging river of wrath, drowning out all sounds except the cynical laughter of the magister before him. The light in his vision slowly closes in until the only thing he sees is the man that has destroyed his life.

He snaps.

Fenris roars like the beast he was named after and activates his markings, flaring brighter than ever before, blinding everyone in the room and rips through the chains supposedly suppressing his abilities. His clawed gauntlets extend outwards to his side, directly phasing into each man’s chest and he grasps their beating hearts and yanks them out in a furious yell. Both men scream and choke in agony for a few seconds before falling to the floor, dying instantly.

Danarius straightens, his face unbelieving that Fenris was able to break through the shackles and walks backwards in fear, trying everything to get away from this crazed animal, but his mana has been spent from this battle, raising demons and undead to fight for him. He trips backwards over a broken chair and lands on his knees in front of his former prized slave with a pathetic cry.

Anders, now barely conscious, has erected a barrier around Fenris to combat any magic potentially thrown his way. He stalks the magister, like a wolf hunting a hare, until he is right before him. Fenris wastes no time, gripping the older man by his throat and lifting him in the air with ease, the magister’s feet dangling off the ground and a horrified look in his eyes.

Fenris snarls, glaring right into his beady eyes, face contorted in rage and fury, “You are no longer my master.” He flexes his spiked talons and grabs onto his trachea and tears it open with a vicious yank, blood splattering Fenris’s face and chest, only adding to the gore already drying there. The man chokes violently as Fenris drops him, and he watches with satisfying pleasure as Danarius claws at his absent throat, seeing the life flow out of him until there is nothing left and his movements cease.

A pained gasp snaps his attention to the woman lying on the dirty, tavern floor in a pool of her own blood. His markings fade instantly and he lunges to her side, kneeling next to her, frantically looking over her for the injury inflicted by the deceased man next to them. Her breath is short and rapid, having difficulties sucking in enough air and her eyes are panicky, wild in their wake, trying to focus on Fenris. Her hands are clutching the gaping wound in her abdomen that is gushing blood in a steady flow.

He sits back on his heels and lifts her head into his lap, stroking her hair out of her face and accidently smearing more blood on her temples, “No, please, no.” he murmurs dejectedly. The mantra in his head won’t stop repeating in a heartbreaking loop.

_This my fault. This is all my fault._

His hands are trembling as he holds her, tears welling up in his eyes as he gazes down at her pale face. “Please, Hawke, please….don’t leave me.” He beings to rock back and forth and lays his forehead against hers, listening helplessly as she struggles to breathe, her life rapidly fading away from him.

“Anders!” He bawls. The mage is limping up to them and kneels beside him, visibly exhausted and completely drained. Fenris turns his head to the mage, “Do something!” he begs desperately, tears now streaking down his face.

Anders shakes his head roughly a few times, no doubt trying to recuperate and moves his hands to hover over her. His hands pulse with a white glow, the magic seeping into Hawke’s body to assess the damage, but all too soon fades away.

Fenris is stroking her face, cradling her head, watching the mage work until Anders speaks, his voice urgent, “She’s been poisoned. Her blood will not coagulate; she is bleeding out too rapidly.”

Fenris snaps back with a snarl, “Well then heal her!” he yells.

Anders shouts back, just as frustrated and terrified as he is with his own eyes watering, “I cannot. I have no mana left and I have no more lyrium potions with me!”

Fenris panics, lifting his head and looking around hysterically at the destroyed tavern for something, anything that can be done to save the woman he loves. He notices that there are empty lyrium bottles scattered throughout the floor. The other patrons that have survived the battle are looking on in shock, watching their champion bleed out right before them. Varania is nowhere to be seen; most likely she fled when she realized her possible mentor would fall.

His eyes land on Varric who has risen from the floor and has his hand over his mouth and silently crying, then to Sebastian who is muttering a prayer with his head down in sorrow and grief. They are of no help here.

Realization hits him when he finally looks down to his hands. He clenches his fists once, then opens them, watching the lyrium lines embedded into his skin. Not looking at Anders, only into Hawkes eyes, that are now beginning to close, he breathes, “Use me.”

Anders head lifts up sharply and stares at him in disbelief, “What?” 

“Use me!” he hollers, hastily tearing off his gauntlets and presenting his bare arm to the mage.

Anders hesitates, “Fenris, wait, won’t that-“

“Just do it, Anders!” He screams when he glares at him. He turns his head back to the woman in his lap and his tone softens when he addresses her, “It’s going to be alright, Hawke. It’ll be alright.” She whimpers and tries to lift her hand tenuously to his face. He grabs it with his now bare hand and presses her bloody palm to his cheek for a moment, relishing her warmth that is quickly becoming cooler, then lowering it to his chest and squeezing tight.

He caresses her cheek one last time and kisses her forehead, his dry lips lingering on her clammy skin. He usually does not like outward affections, but this may be the last time he ever sees her alive if this does not work, so all hesitation recedes from him.

He feels Anders put his hand on his arm with gentle pressure and Fenris squeezes his eyes shut and nods his head.

The pain…is excruciating. His skin is on fire, penetrating into his very soul as the mage draws the lyrium from his flesh. It’s as if jagged, serrated glass is being dragged through every inch of him, shredding him from the inside out. His eyes may be screwed shut, but he is blinded by the bright light emanating from his markings. He can hear himself screaming in anguish; he can feel the tears now running down his face in a river of despair, unable to breathe, but he holds on. He doesn’t try to fight it and does not attempt to get away, using every ounce of strength in him to stay still and let the mage do his work.

After what seems like an eternity of unbelievable misery, the mage retracts his hand, but Fenris still feels the burning pain and he collapses next to Hawke on the ground.

The last thing he sees is a pair of beautiful blue eyes piercing directly into his heart before his world turns black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did she survive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a flash back to when Fenris was a slave and it gets kinda creepy, so if you don't want to read that, skip all the italic parts. Some dialogue taken from the game. All rights to Bioware and yada yada.

_“That’s it, little wolf. That’s it. You’re doing so well.”_

_Fenris purrs through the grunts of pain at the praise of his master. He’s been good, staying still for his master as he uses him for his power that was gifted upon his body only days ago._

_It was just another party, another ritual. He wants his master to be happy, wants to impress his friends, the little boy screaming and being drained of blood on the table is unimportant, forgotten. He lets master use him for what he needs. Maybe he will get to sleep in the bed and not the floor tonight if he is good enough._

_Master starts to extract more power from him, but it’s too much and he cringes. “Please master. It hurts.”_

_He receives a backhand to his cheek for his complaint and he topples to the ground with a grunt and stinging flesh. Master yells at him, “You will not speak!” Fenris flinches at the volume of master’s voice. He can hear the others laughing, but pays them no heed._

_“Get up!” He obeys immediately, scrambling to his knees before his master in nothing but his ratty trousers. Master takes his face in his hands and he lifts his head up sharply, but Fenris keeps his eyes down like a good boy. Master strokes his face lovingly with his thumbs, his hot breath ghosting onto his lips, “I’m sorry, my wolf,” he says affectionately, “but you know the rules. I’m afraid I’ll have to punish you.”_

_He panics, his eyes wild and body trying to be free of the hands securing him. Master lays his hands on his neck and grips tightly, and Fenris knows what comes next, “No master, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be-ahhh!”_

_He cries and hunches over in on himself as master disciplines him. He will get punished more for his weakness, but it hurts so much._

_It never stops, the extraordinary pain coursing through him like a river of molten fire. When will it be over? Please let it be over. Let it stop, let it stop…._

His eyes open with the faint echoes of his own screams in his ears and the phantom pulsing of his markings in his skin. Fenris screws his eyes shut, clenches his fists, and inhales sharply through his nose, holding his breath as the memory fades and the crackling of a fire in the hearth is the only thing he hears.

He exhales slowly through his mouth, steady. Taking another deep breath, he is surrounded by the familiar scent of fresh flowers and clean linen.

He opens his eyes again and tilts his head with furrowed brows, recognizing the ceiling of Hawke’s canopy bed and the comforting, cool feeling of her sheets beneath his bare hands. He blushes slightly with the recollection of why he has the knowledge of what the top of her bed looks like. He raises his hands to his field of vision and sees that he is no longer in his armor and only encompassed in a clean, plain tunic and his leggings. He turns his head on the pillow to his left and sees Hawke sleeping soundly, her face back to its pink tinted porcelain and breathing deeply, serenely with the slow rise and fall of her chest.

She looks so relaxed and peaceful; she always did when she slept, looking younger without the usual tension lines on her features. He raises his left hand to brush against her bare arm and rubs her lightly with the backs of his fingers, her previously clammy skin now soft and smooth.

“You’re awake.”

Fenris inhales sharply at the sudden voice in the relative silence and turns his head back abruptly, ready to fight and defend his sleeping woman, but relaxes instantly when he sees the abomina- Anders, sitting in a chair next to the bed. Anders is hunched over with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. His eyes are drooping with dark circles in crescent shapes underneath, and he looks absolutely exhausted.

Fenris raises onto his forearms, taking a moment to examine the room with conformation that yes, he is in Hawke’s bedroom. “What happened?” He asks groggily, voice hoarse from overuse.

Anders answers quietly, “You passed out. You both did, Sebastian and I carried you here.”

Fenris clears his throat and inquires while sitting up, leaning against the headboard and careful not to jostle her, “How long?”

Anders shrugs his shoulders, “About twelve hours.” Fenris looks up and notices that it is dark outside the window high on her wall and only the roaring fire illuminates the room. His gaze returns to the sleeping form next to him, looking over her until his eyes rest on her abdomen underneath the sheets.

He asks tentatively, “Is she…?”

He receives a response before he finishes his question, “She’ll be alright. I was able to remove the poison and close the wound, thanks to you. She will have a nasty scar, but she will survive. She just needs some rest. You both do.”

Fenris turns his head to the mage and says forcefully, “As do you.” Anders just nods his head slowly; his eyes fixed on the woman beside Fenris in the bed.

Fenris returns to rubbing her arm, turning his head away from the mage.

There is comfortable silence for a few minutes until Anders takes a deep breath and stands behind him, “Right. I’ll just uh, come back later to check on you.” He moves slowly to the door of her room blearily, but before he leaves, Fenris speaks up.

“Anders.”

He stops in the doorway with his hand on the doors panel, looking back curiously over his shoulder at the elf.

Fenris looks up to him with his brow furrowed, not in anger, to the mage that saved not only the woman he loves, but his life as well. If she had not survived, he would not have been able to go on. For that, he was certain.

His eyes say it all as he mutters, “Thank you.”

There is a moment between them, an understanding. They may hate each other, they may be at each other’s throats constantly and argue and enrage each other on purpose, but they do have one thing in common. They both love Hawke and would do anything to protect her.

Anders nods his head somberly, turns his back to him, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Fenris can hear his steps fading down the stairs as he transfers all his attention to Hawke resting beside him. He leans toward her, resting on his elbow, and continues to caress up and down her arm with his right hand, watching her face fondly.

After only a few minutes, as if sensing his gaze on her, she stirs and inhales deeply, opening her eyes. Those beautiful oceans of blue focus on Fenris and she immediately sighs slowly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Hey.” She says softly.

The corner of his mouth lifts subtly. He continues to rub her arm as he responds, “Hello.”

She tilts her head so she can see him better, “You’re here.” She quietly says, almost in disbelief that he is lying in bed next to her, which she has plenty of reason to be surprised unfortunately.

“I am.” He replies simply.

She furrows her brow and lifts her hand to cup his cheek, “Are you alright?”

“I believe I should be asking you that.” He retorts, but leans into her touch.

She shakes her head at him angrily, “I don’t…Fen, why did you do that?” she asks him irritably.

“I did what had to be done.” He asserted.

She reprimands him wearily, “It could have killed you.”

He answers, frustrated, “I could not idly sit by helplessly while you…” He huffs, shaking his head, “I had to do something. I could not have you depart from me so abruptly before I...” He takes a deep breath, “I swore to myself that if I could save you, I would confess all the things I should have that night.”

Knowing what night he was referring to, Hawke presses on, “Well, I’m alive.”

“This I can see.” He deadpans with no hostility.

“…what would you have said?” She asks shyly, ducking her head a fraction. Hawke waits for his response with bated breath and hope in her sparkling eyes, thankfully not dull and lifeless as he remembers them being not twelve hours ago.

This conversation is three years overdue, and it was time for him to stop being cowardly. His master is dead. He is free and there is nothing holding him back now. Being intimate with Hawke still frightens him, but seeing her lifeless body drained of blood frightens him even more. He will never risk not having her in his arms again.

Fenris leans in as close as he can, his chest hovering over hers. He slides his hand up to cup her jaw, their lips almost touching and he whispers, “Nothing is worse than the thought of living without you.”

She is silent as her bottom lip trembles, a tear shimmers down her cheek and she sighs, “Oh, Fenris.”

He continues his confession determinedly, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb and gazing into her deep blue orbs, “If there is a future to be had, I will gladly walk into it by your side.”

She doesn’t reply with words. The hand on his cheek slips up into his white, feathery hair to grip onto the back of his neck, and she pulls him down to close the gap between their lips.

The kiss is gentle at first, with barely any pressure. Her lips are soft and warm, feeling like silk against his own. She whimpers into the kiss as her hand tightens in his hair. Fenris tilts his head to better reach her mouth, clutching her waist firmly to him and she sighs in appreciation.

He feels the beginning of an erection and he unintentionally starts to grind his hard arousal against her hip. She apparently feels it because she begins to deepen the kiss, probing his lips with her tongue. He allows it, letting her muscle slip into his mouth and stroke against his own. He lets out a groan and rubs his hardened cock more forcefully against her.

Receiving some semblance of control, realizing that she is in need of rest and not fit for the, activities this will lead to, he pulls back from her succulent lips, much to her disappointment if the whine of protest and attempts to follow his lips says anything.

“Mphf, Hawke, we shouldn’t.” But oh, how he wanted to.

She just grips onto him tighter, turning her body so that her front is flush with his. “Please.” she begs him.

“You should be resting.” he meekly protests while grinding his erection lazily into her groin.

“Please, Fenris. I want to feel you. I need to know that you are still here with me.” Her eyes are pleading with him, her irises nearing black with her own excitement and her teeth biting her bottom lip seductively.

He is powerless to resist her.

He resumes their gradually heating kiss and has all the intentions of laying her back and taking her, but she is having none of it and pushes him onto his back. She goes to straddle his thighs, but a soft grunt of pain stops her. He is about to call the whole thing off but she tries again, wincing through the pain silently, settling her heat center right over his groin. Her core rests right against his now prominent erection and he groans when she rolls her hips against him with a soft moan, _“Yes”._

He grips her hips when she leans down to continue their kiss, their hips restless against each other. Her hands snake up his tunic and she rubs her hands up and down his lyrium scarred chest. Having already been with her before, he knows exactly what to expect, and moans in pleasure at her attentions. She grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it up and he raises from the bed to remove himself of his tunic.

He gives her the same treatment, pulling her shirt up and over her head to toss to the side, revealing her pert, soft breasts to him. His gaze travels down her exposed waist and he is distracted by the jagged scar now marking her abdomen, now a constant reminder of when he almost lost her.

She notices his focus is elsewhere and she looks down to where his eyes have fixed upon and she gasps, seeing the red, raised flesh. She tries to cover it up with her arms, embarrassed, but Fenris stops her.

“No. Don’t.” He says softly. She looks at him, confusion and worry on her face, “I would be quite the hypocrite if a little scar bothered me, Hawke.” She smiles gentle and nods her head, letting her arms fall away.

She raises up on her knees and begins to unlace her trousers as he does the same, anxious and eager to feel each other again. Not just because of almost losing one another, but it has been a long three years, and they have some time to make up for. Although to Fenris, he just wants to feel that she is real, that she is here and safe with him.

Once they are both divested of their attire, she hovers over him, brushing her slick arousal along his cock teasingly. He watches her beautiful face as her mouth hangs open in a silent moan, her watching his cock slide along her slit and rub against her clit.

Having had enough teasing, she grips him at his head and lines him up with her heated core, and slowly begins to sink down onto him. She lets out a high moan and Fenris grunts, feeling her tight sheath surround his cock with heat and warmth.

Hawke rolls her hips against him once he is fully inside her, and he moves with her, reveling in her warm, snug core. She begins to raise onto her knees, sliding him out slowly until just his tip nestles inside her, then she glides back down just as languidly, feeling every stretch and pulse of his swollen member.

Fenris watches with half lidded eyes the woman on his cock, rocking and riding dreamily on top of him and he can’t help but think about if he had lost her today. What would he have done? Where would he have gone? There was no question. He would never have been able to live with himself if she perished because of his idiotic mistakes.

A stubborn tear escapes his eye and Hawke notices it before he can hide it.

She stops her delightfully pleasuring movements and looks at him worriedly, “Fenris? What’s wrong?”

She leans down onto him, her soft breasts rubbing against his chest, and plants her hands on either side of his head, combing her right hand through his hair. He grips her hips while raising his knees, cradling her to his body.

His voice is shaking and he is ashamed to admit that yet another tear escapes him, “I thought I lost you today.” He sniffs, pausing for a moment, “I was so frightened.”

She cups his cheek and breathes lovingly, “I’m here Fen. I’m right here.” She leans their foreheads together and they close their eyes, just feeling each other, all the while still keeping him inside of her.

He opens his eyes, one hand coming to her face and brushing the back of his hand against her cheek, “I will not let anything keep me from you.” He declares firmly.

She sighs happily, a smile gracing her red, kiss swollen lips and she responds, gazing into his big, emerald green eyes, “I love you.”

He matches her dreamy expression with one of his own, “I am yours.”

They begin their slow love making anew, not in any hurry and reveling in each other’s intimate embrace. Hawke is rolling her hips with every deep thrust of his member inside her tight heat. She is kissing every part of skin she can reach, his neck, his shoulders, his ears, and his lips and he is giving her the same treatment. Her breathing becomes rapid and he can feel the deep quivering around his cock that signals she is close.

When her orgasm hits, she quietly moans in his ear, her tight channel gripping and convulsing around his engorged member. He groans into her neck and squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting up erratically once, twice, then he is sighing and whining with trembling breath as he pumps his seed into her heated depths, releasing all the built up tension, worry, and love he has kept caged inside him. He continues to thrust his hips lazily, working himself and her through the aftershocks and bringing them both down from their highs together.

They are both trembling and panting, clinging to each other. As if at any minute another disaster is going to try to tear them apart. But they have this moment, to just feel and touch and reassure that they are alive and still fighting and still very much in love.

Holding her to his chest and rubbing her back soothingly as her breathing deepens, he vows into her ear to always follow her, protect her and give her everything she deserves. He will never know if he will get another chance to promise it to her, before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments and kudos are loved!!


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